The Fear Within
by Secondhand Soul
Summary: It grows inside, an everpresent darkness, that fear. Every day he wonders if he will fall to darkness... Cecil Centric semi-coherent ficlets. I cannot gaurntee chronological order.
1. Neo Nasiance

The Fear Within

Neo Naissance

"One... two... three...," the voices echoed aross the courtyard, dancing over the stones and to the ears of the parents who watched their children play with gentle eyes.

Beyond them lay the Kingdom of Baron, a land whose military might was beyond that of any other on the world, but its people were happy and prosperous, and it was an era of great peace. The King had decided to take an excurtion into the forests outside the city to survey his Kingdom and the outlying land, and he had taken a small entorage of attendants with him, his Dark Knights and his Royal Gaurd, both groups small but elite.

It was in this forest that they found the boy.

He was huddled up againt the trunk of a tree, his head buried in his hands. He was crying softly, his shoulders shaking as he held himself, trying to stave off the cold. The boy could be no more than two years old, and his face was dirty, tear streaked. He was a most bizarre looking child, his eyes bright and alert green, his skin unusually pale, even for a babe, and his hair unruly silver grey.

"What is this? A little boy?" One of the Royal Gaurd asked, reaching out for the child, who stummbled backwards.

"N-no! Get away! Stay away! I want Daddy!" he had pressed himself into the tree, staring with wild eyes up at the armored men.

"Get away from him!" someone commanded ", can't you see that you're scaring the boy?"

It was the King himself, dismounted, who came to kneel by the child, who was still shivering, sobbing ", What's wrong... are you lost?"

"It was Teddy!" He blubbered, though no one knew what he meant. "He didn't come!"

"... What's your name, little boy?" the King questioned, holding out a comforting arm.

The boy didn't respond at first, staring at the strange man's arm with curiosity. A moment later the boy flung himself into the King's arms, burying his face in the silken robes. The Gaurds around him tensed for attack, but the King sent them a warning glare ", He's but a harmless babe. What can he do to me, the King of the strongest country in the world?"

"Cecil," the boy muttered, though it was lound enough for only the King to hear.

"Cecil? Well, Cecil... you seem to be alone... how would you like to come home with me?" The King asked, to the astonishment of his entourage.

"What about Daddy and Teddy?" the boy looked up at the King, his wide eyes now dry, an almost comically concerned question on his face.

"... Well, if they come looking for you, I shall have to return you, but it's not nice to leave someone in the woods alone, is it, Cecil?" the King patted the child's head affectionately, a smile on his face.

"No," the boy concluded.

"Come on now, little one," the King said, lifting the boy into the air ", let's get you back to Baron and cleaned off."

He turned to one of the attending Dark Knights, a man by the name of Alec, and began to issue an order ", Go ahead and have the servants prepare a place for him. I want a bath run and food prepared. Tell them to make it food that a tot would eat, and hurry. Take my horse, we will return on foot."

Alec bowed, pivoting and mounting the horse. A moment later he was gone, riding off twoards the palace, which was only a fourty-five minute walk from the forest.

Cecil was settled against the King's chest, his tiny hands clutching the King's robe tightly. The King himself seemed to be quite content with having the boy there, almost as if it were every day of his life that he had a little boy curled up againt his chest.

"Your Highness...," one of the attendants muttered. " Do you intend on keeping him?"

"He looks like her," the King muttered ", if you look at him just the right way. It's her eyes he has, don't you think?"

"... I don't konw what you're talking about, Sire," the attendant admitted.

"Cecilia. He looks like her," the King looked down at the boy, who was dozing off in his embrace.

"... Lady Cecilia, your Highness...?" the man stared at the boy for a bit. "I suppose he does... do you think...?"

"It could be, but either way, he doesnt' have a home,does he? I'll see to it that a home is just what he gets."

"... I'm sleepy," Cecil mummbled somewhat incoherently.

"Yes, I know," the King brushed his caloused fingers against the head of the boy with uncharacteristic tenderness ", sleep, and I'll wake you up in a little bit."

"Okay..." the boy yawned and curled himself up in a ball, his head buried in the folds of the Kings heavy robe.

The King refused to let go of the boy all the way to Castle Baron.

... ... ...

"Who... is he?" Baigan asked, watching the King bounce the tot upon his knee, Cecil squealing joyfully.

"Truthfully, I have no idea, but I think he may be Cecilia's son... though he certainly is unusual... I have never seen hair quite like his before," he smiled as the boy clamboured all over him, his chortling echoing off the walls of the Throne Room.

"Cecilia's... son... mi'lord... is that why...?" the young man asked, watching as the boy reached up to touch The King's crown.

"That may be part of the reason," the King admitted ", but the boy needed a home, and I have no children of my own... I wanted to make him a part of my family... He has strong eyes, doesnt' he? I predict great things for this one."

"He certainly is curious, isn't he?" Baigan questioned, watching the King settle the boy back in his lap.

"Oh, yes... just the other day he asked me why I wore "the shiny thing," and "why do we have two moons instead of one?" unfortunately, I could only answer one of his questions," he chuckled, playing absently with Cecil's hair.

"Why do you have such a big chair?" Cecil suddenly asked, his emerald eyes inquisitive.

"Becasue I'm King, Cecil... I help guide people to make good descions. You'll understand when you grow up," he set Cecil down on the floor. " Unfortunately, I have work to do, so you have to go out to the Courtyard and play."

Cecil pouted but did what he was told despite this.

" I wonder what kind of man he'll be when he grows up?" the King mused to Baigan."Will he be brave and bold? Shy and gentle?"

"You really are investing alot into this boy, aren't you?" Baigan said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Yes, that child... I want him to think of me as his father..."

"His Father, your Highness?" Baigan asked with more than a bit of skeptisisim aparent in his voice.

The King smiled softly, amused by the mans bewilderment ", Yes. I have no heir of my own, no wife, and I'm getting old. What other alternative do you see?"

And to that Baigan could say nothing.

... ... ...


	2. You and I are The Same

The Fear Within

Foremost Introduction

His eyes looked around him, seeing the other children play, play from which he was always excluded on the basis of "Our teams are full," or ", well, we're sort of like a club..."

He didn't know why they didn't like him, just that they didn't. It wasn't fair, he thought, he really wasn't any different from them, not deep down.

He tucked his legs up into his chest, leaning against the wall of the courtyard and watching them play. They would at least let him do that, and so he did. He imagined he was playing with them, if only for a little while. Of course he knew it wasn't really the same thing at all. Cecil was still alone, and that was that.

"Who do you think you are?"

At first, he didn't really know who was talking, but when he looked up a saw a boy with blonde hair who was a bit bigger than him staring down at him.

"What are you talking about?" He tilted his head to one side, pushing himself up off the ground and staring the boy in the eyes unashamed.

"You think you're special just because the King took you in! You never talk to the other kids! All you do is stare at us like you think you're better than us! Well, we're the same, now! I'm just like you!" the blonde boy was accusing him of something he didn't do.

Cecil, jaw clenching in anger, retorted. "What did you say about me?!"

They stared one another down for a long time, Cecil's green eyes locking with the defiant amber eyes of the other boy. Cecil would not back down. He was wrong. Cecil was just lonely, that's why he watched them play.

"It's just like I thought. No wonder no one likes you."

Cecil took an aggressive step forward, his fists clenching ", Say that again."

"I said…"

"Kain, stop it!"

It was a girl who called off the fight, her long golden hair whipping about her face as she ran forward. She looked very sad, hurt, as if something were wrong with her; Cecil wondered what it was.

"You shouldn't start fights, Kain!" she grabbed his hand with both of hers.

"This guy just sits and stares everyday, Rosa," Kain growled. "That's all he does. Then, he hides behind the King like some lost little puppy. It's like he's trying to rule us!"

"Kain…" Rosa began, but Cecil interrupted her.

"That's not it! I don't do that! I just want to play, but no one will let me!" he was still so angry, and he could feel tears falling down his face; he turned away- this Kain boy would just pick on him for that, too.

"What's going on here?" the shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Cid staring down at him. "Is the Highwind boy giving you problems, Cecil?"

Cecil shook his head vehemently.

"It looks like he is to me, jumping to conclusions like that," Cid mumbled.

The big man turned to Kain, his bearded face looking scarier that Cecil had ever seen it before. "I don't care if you did just loose your parents; that's no reason to take it out on Cecil here! What has he ever done to you?"

"All he does is watch us! He doesn't ever talk to anyone! And he looks weird! And he was raised by the King, so he thinks he's special!" Kain objected yet again, though it sounded like his arguments were getting weaker.

Cid snorted. "He may be a bit defensive and argumentative, but did you ever ask him? Huh, Kain? He may not talk to anyone because he can tell they don't like him, or maybe he's shy. As for the thinking he's special part… Cecil is the most humble little boy I know. He doesn't have a selfish bone is his body. Something _you _could stand to learn from. Live up to your Highwind name, boy!"

He turned to that Rosa girl, eyes gentle. "Of course, I'm not mad at you, sweetie. I came here just in time to see you try to stop them from fighting."

"I'm sorry," Kain muttered to Cecil.

"Cid said your Mother and Father just died, right?" Cecil looked out from behind Cid's legs. "Then that means we have something in common! I'm an orphan, too."


	3. I Am an Enigma, Even to Myself

The Fear Within

Ire

Cecil Havey was atypical, in many ways.

Everyone had to acknowledge it, for there was no denying the obvious physical evidence before them. He was a novelty, something he had always been vaugely aware of, whether it was for good or for ill. He knew the reasons, of course, regardless of whether or not he had been told them by the man who was, at least in part, responsible for this novelty.

His appearance was, of course, part of the reason. It was obvious by looking at him that he was not... your average young man. He was as pale as the moons, his skin possessing a certain luminescent beauty; a trait he did not particularly relish, being a young Knight-in-Training. To add to this, he had hair that women envied, though it was a sliver white; almost hoary, in his opinion it likened him to an eldery man. His lips held the constat apperance of one suffering from a hypothermic reaction to the cold, a pale blue color. On top of all this, Cecil had to deal with the fact that, according to his female peers, he had a beauty that they envied. Knights were not supposed to be beautiful - not even in the slightest.

This was only secondary in his mind to the concerns he habored about his origins, however. According to court rumor, which was seldom to never wrong about these sorts of things, he was the son of Cecilia, the once wife of the King who eloped with a bizzare man one night, never to be heard from again. If that was the case, and it most likely was, then Cecil had reason to believe that he was only in the palace becasue His Highness had known precisely who he was when he was discovered in the forest as a babe.

It was disheartening to know that he may only be here because he resembled his mother, that his highness may not be the man he thought him to be.

"You're brooding again, Cecil," it was Kain Highwind, fellow orphan and dear comrade.

"Am I?" he asked, running his hand through his hair absentmindedly.

"Yes," Kain waved in front of Ceci's face in an attempt to draw his friend's attention to other things. "Now, cease, before Rosa approaches and catches you. You do not want to worry her again, do you, Cecil?"

Cecil stared up at Kain from his seat at the long mess hall table, green eyes meeting amber eyes. Cecil sighed, and nodded, pushing himself up to stand with graceful fluididty. "Are we tardy to class again?"

"... Yes. You were daydreaming and missed the end of the mess period. I came to find you, not a hard task considering your dispostion," Kain joked, blowing a strand of blond hair away from his face.

"... You, my friend, can be an ass at times," Cecil frowned, standing as his friend laughed at him.

Kain said nothing, only stared at his friend amusedly before departing, Cecil easily keeping stride with the taller Kain. The two of them said nothing as they traversed down the halls of the elite Baron Military Academy, passing other students who whispered conspiratoraly as they passed.

Another thing that set Cecil apart were those whom he associated himself with.

Kain Highwind, the orphaned son of Highwind the Dragon Knight commander, was his best friend. He was here with Cecil having graduated in the same year, despite the fact that Cecil was a full year younger than Kain. He was connected to his father's Dragon, Fefnir. Fefnir had learned to trust both Cecil and Rosa through Kain's careful conditioning... but the Dragon was growing old and soon would perish.

Rosa Joanna Farrell was the only daughter of Widow Farrell, whose husband had died in the same battle as Kain's parents. Sir Farrell had been a Dark Knight, as Cecil aspired to be, to Rosa's great terror. She had heard first hand the horror stories of the terrible wounds that had been inflicted on her father by his own attacks. She was schooled in the Society of White Mages in able to be of service to her two Knights in Shining Armor; Kain and Cecil.

They were all without one or more parents - all without fathers - and thus united.

He knew, of course, that Kain and Rosa could be normal if they did not associate themselves with him. He knew he was the tumor that infected their social lives - the reason that they were outcasted. He wondered why they even bothered.

"Mr. Harvey, Mr. Highwind," the instructor, Sir Godwin, greeted dryly ", I'm glad you could join us."

Cecil moved silently to the back of the class while Kain took his seat at the front.

It was usually the policy of instructors to seperate them. Wise, considering that the two of them together had done such things as flood the entire first floor of the palace with water from the sewers. It wasn't as if they tried to cause mayhem, however, it just happened...

The next hour and a half passed very slowly, for Cecil was anticipating the free reign he and Kain would have of the training ground for the next several hours. The informative period was over, and then they could do as they pleased.

After class however, he was stopped by another of the students, eyes blazing. "Do you believe that you are so privalaged that you can waltz into class late whenever you want?"

Cecil said nothing, too shocked to think of a response, and so he stood, staring with a dumbfounded expression at his assailant.

"Do not let yourself get a swelled head, Harvey. His Highness may have brought you into his home, but you will never be anything other than the bastard son of his..."

His peer did not finish that statement.

In a fraction of a second, Cecil Harvey had the boy pined against the wall, his green eyes blazing with a righteous rage ", You... you will not say such things about my mother, you useless cur."

He was choking off his fellow student, and it took another three boys to peel him away from the boy who had so easily insulted him.

"Just because you think I am a certain way does not mean that I am," Cecil hissed. "You do not know me, and I do not know you, but your statement shows how ignorant you are."

The assailant was panting, grasping his neck and staring up at Cecil with terror.

"I do not like who I am. I am here becasue I am trying to prove myself worthy of His Majesty's gift," Cecil spat at his feet and turned away, pushing through the door and out into the abandon hallway, his heart full of bitter feelings.

Kain turned to the four students, gave them a dangerous look, and then spun on his hell to try and catch up with his friend. Rosa would hear about this later, if not from Cecil, then from himself.

"Cecil, slow down!" Kain reaced out, pulling on Cecil's sleeve in an attempt to stop him.

" ... ," Cecil glanced behind him, and Kain released his arm.

"Obviously, there's something deeper going on here," Kain stated cooly. "I've never known you to be so impulsive ... gullable, yes, but you always take the time to think things through."

"What he was going to say ... is true. My mother... she was ... disloyal," Cecil did not turn to Kain, had averted his gaze so that his friend could not see his shame. "I do not belong here. I am a bastard child, Kain."

Kain sighed ", For being so bright, you sure are a complete fool upon occassion. You said it yourself, did you not? You're not taking advantage of his majesty and you're here to prove yourself worthy of his gifts. If that is the case why, then , should your parantage matter?"

"... You... are right," Cecil laughed. " But... I am not who I always thought I was. Do you know how they stare at me? How ... out of place I feel? I question my humanity sometimes."

"... Well, I can't argue with that, but your looks aren't the only reason you catch people staring," Kain was smiling softly; he should have figured Cecil was just being Cecil."You... are an amazing swordsman. There is no one better in all of Baron. Many of the young men are jealous of you becasue you have the approval of the Masters, and you're only a first year."

Cecil turned around to stare at Kain in disbelief ", Are they truly that ... petty?"

"You bet they are," It was Rosa, running twoard them. "Now what did you do? We had a group of boys come in carrying one of their friends and complaining about a silver-haired menace."

"He insulted Ceci's mother, and Cecil got a bit... angry," Kain explained.


	4. Reprisal

The Fear Within

Reprisal

Cecil nearly fell backwards, his eyes flashing as he backed into the wall.

They were here for him.

"Maybe we should teach him a lesson, gentleman," the leader grinned. "I think that he's a bit arrogant for his own good."

There was a general snickering and muttering of agreement. Cecil had no sword, but they were underestimating him - he was by no means defenseless just because he didn't have a weapon on his person at the moment. He was mentally preparing himself for their attacks, trying to figure out how to retaliate for all of the possible moves they could make.

"Try me," he growled; hadn't they ever heard that the caged beast was the most dangerous beast?

They scoffed at him, as if he couldn't do anything.

Cecil was ready.

Even in the event that he should loose he was prepared, it wasn't as if he'd not been beaten in a fight, it was just that these were peons... These were insignificant fighters who would be, at most, low ranking officers in the army - They wouldn't test into anything. He, however, was training with the Dark Blade. Logically, he should beat them, even if he was outnumbered.

The one closest to him moved in to attack while the others circled him like hungry lions. With easy grace he dodged the punch, planting his back foot on the wall and pushing off into the mob. This took them off gaurd, causing them to scatter like pollen spores in a strong gust of wind. While he still had his momentum he swung his leg around and hit one of his assailants in the stomach, causing them to colapse. One of the men charged him, swinging wildly at him. This time, Cecil used his own momentum against him, side stepping the swing and watching the man run into a wall, giving himself a bloody nose in the process. In that way, he took out two of the men, leaving only three to contend with.

This time, he took an offensive approach in an attempt to startle them.

He realized that if he took out the leader there would be less of a chance that they would stay and continue to fight with him - If their leader, the best fighter out of all of them, were to beaten soundly, there was no way any one of them could even have a chance. So, with furious speed, he moved to jab left at the ring leader. The blow was low, intended to cause his target to double over in pain so that a quick blow to the head could concuss him and end the fight.

Cecil's plan was perfectly executed, and the man colapsed a moment or so later.

"... Demitri!?" one of them asked in breathless horror.

"You should take him to the White Magi," Cecil suggested. turning around to pick his practice sword up off the ground. "I hit him hard enough to concuss."

"What!? Why would you..."

Cecil cut the speaker off ", You attack someone with the intent to injure them and then expect them not to defend themselves? That line of thought is naive."

They obeyed him, having nothing to say to his comment.

Cecil realized then that he was in special classes for a reason. He had often doubted himself in the position he was in, but he now realized that it was paying off, that he was officer material, and that he belonged here in the Military Academy.

"Not bad," Sir Alec Dublouin stood at the entrance to the small courtyard, clapping, wearing an amused expression. "They were right about you."

Cecil turned his full attention to the Dark Knight, placing a hand on the hilt of the practice sword that was at his hip. "Who are they and what are they saying?"

"Lord Baigan, Sir Godwin, many of the other Knights at court, and... His Majesty. I've never seen anything quite like that before," he took a few steps twoard Cecil, his dark armor glinting dimly. "But..."

"But?" Cecil asked, wondering if there was anyway he could impprove.

"Let me see you with this sword," Alec smoothly unsheathed the blade that hung at his side and gingerly handed it to Cecil.

Cecil could feel the dark energy flowing through it into his palms, but he payed it no heed; it wasn't as if this was his first time holding a dark blade and the power no longer seemed so alluring. He channeled his energy, feeling his life force eke into the blade, then, with a cry of exertion, he released the energy welled up within him at the nearest practice dummy.

It flew into pieces.

Cecil could still do more, though he could feel the wound that had opened on his back slowly dripping blood.

"... That wasn't your first time, was it?" Alec said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No. I practice every night with Dark Blades," he handed the sword back to the Knight. "When I graduate I fully intend to become a Dark Knight."

" It shows. I'd say that your chance is exellent. How old are you?"

"Sixteen. I graduate this year."

"Only sixteen?" Alec said in stunned disbelief. "Yet you act like a man twice your age."

"Only around his elders," came the joking voice of Kain, who was striding twoard them from the opposite side of the courtyard.

"Is that so?" Alec arched a fine eyebrow, staring skeptically at the young Dark Knight.

"Oh, yes," Kain continued. "This one is a regular lush."

" I am _not _a lush," Cecil protested.

Kain laughed softly, smiling at Cecil, who looked away from both of the men bashfully ", Unfortunately, I have to borrow Cecil from you, Lord Dublouin. His Majesty has requested Cecil's presence."

"What is this about?" Cecil asked.

Kain sighed heavily ", I'm not entierly sure."


	5. Endowment Reprisal Part Two

Endowment - Part Two of Reprisal

Cecil took the stairs to the throne room in three, bounding strides, lithe out of his armor. Kain moved up the stairs, more slowly, behind him, watching as his friend conversed with one of the gaurds idly. The heavy doors, barred by cast iron, were flung open a moment later and Cecil gracefully swept into the room.

Kain never ceased to be amzaed by his friend's level of enthusiasim to see the king. While Kain felt endebted to the man, he had memories of his father, and so he felt no affection twoard His Highness in that way.

But Cecil... Cecil had no memories of his parents, and had been with His Lord since he was three years old. To Cecil the king was his father, even though he claimed to be nothing but a loyal soldier.

Kain followed suit, drifting into the expanse of the throne room where the king waited, Cecil already kneeling at his feet.

"Stand, Cecil," the king commanded, and Cecil did so, awaiting the man's orders.

The king seemed to look over the young man with a discerning eye, and Kain sensed behind them deep affection. He was an old man, worn with age, his hair long and white, tied in a single braid down his back. His eyes looked nearly black in the ocean of his white beard, though they were really brown, made merry by the many laugh lines about them. Despite this he still wore armor, as any good king of Baron would, and had an apperance befitting the prestige he once held.

"Baigan, leave us," the king commanded, eyes momentarily settling on Kain before flicking away, " I wish to deliever the news to Cecil only in the presence of those who would know most his joy."

Baigan, understanding that the king simply meant he was not close to the young knight, bowed low from the waist and disapeared from the room. Kain himself moved forward, standing closer to the throne without moving too close.

"Your Highness?" Cecil asked, tilting his to one side.

"I'm sure you've heard of Cid's recent sucsess in building the first of what will soon be many in a fleet of airships," the king began, stepping down from his throne to be at eye level with his son.

"Yes, of course sir," Cecil said, nodding, though he had furrowed his brow, seeming unsure of where the king was leading this conversation; Kain, of course, knew exactly where this was heading.

"It's a fine ship, and I'm sure that Cid's already shown it to you. I've seen it myself, and I told him that I loved the color he'd made her. Do you approve of the color, Sir Harvey?" the king stroked his beard thoughtfully, awaiting his answers.

"Yes. Brilliant cherry red, flying the flag of Baron, propellers roaring ... It would certainly bring glory to our nation," Cecil decalared.

"Indeed it would," the king nodded in agreement, his wizened eyes smiling, "and it would be even more noticeable with a young knight of great reputation at the helm of it's leading ship."

Kain could sense Cecil swallowing his exitement and favor an attitude of humble disbelief, "sir, do you mean ... me?"

"Of course. You do everything I've ever asked of you, even trained with the Dark Blade, and you have excelled at it. I think it's high time I reward you for your faithful service to Baron. You are quite the military man, son," the king placed a hand upon Cecil's shoulder, beaming at him. "It won't be long before you graduate, and then you will take the test to become a Dark Knight. I am positive you will pass this, and when you do you will be given leadership of our Arial Naval Fleet."

Cecil suddenly fell to one knee, bowing his head in submission. "I am not sure I deserve an honor such as this, but I thank you with all of my heart. I could not ask for anything greater."

"Always too humble for your own good," Kain said at last, "but I'm graduated and you're not. How are you going to keep up with me, a Dragoon, if you don't accept the King's offer?"

Cecil cast him a glare, though it wasn't at full strength, and then stood, "but I would accept the position and do all I can to fufill your expectations of me."

"And you will exceed them," the King said. "I dismiss you, Cecil, just..." the man trailed off, stroking his long beard.

Cecil tilted his head to one side, " Sir?"

"Make sure you act your age once in a while. There's no harm in being a young man, and it would do you some good," the king ruffled Cecil's hair fondly, as he had when the Knight was a little boy, and made his way back to the throne. "Send Baigan back in, will you? We have much to discuss."

Cecil nodded, touched the top of his head, and opened the doors (with Kain's help), stepping back out into his life to find Rosa and give her the news.

A/N: I'm sorry that this is short, but it belongs with the rest of Reprisal. It's best if you read the two consecutively. I believe it makes the most sense that way.

Thank you to every one who reviewed these one shots. Writing about Cecil, Kain, and all the others makes me very happy as there's so much to work with. The only things that limit the Final Fantasy IV fanbase are a lack of canon materials and our own imaginations. I hope you continue to read my one shots.


	6. Stoicism

A/n: The premise of this piece is to detail Cecil's different reactions with different pary members and their 'camp fire dynamics.' It is intended to highlight the below trait in his pre-Paladin personality. It is meant to bring humanity to the characters of FFIV, who are wonderful because their personalities are diverse and interesting but sparse enough to play with.

_Stoic:_ **somebody impassive: **somebody who is unemotional, especially somebody who shows patience and endurance during adversity

Cecil Harvey stared into the dancing flames, his mind distant. The little girl and the old man who were his company sat chatting idly about magic and other such things. Magic was useful in battle, but he had no intimate knowledge of it and did not particularly care to.

"Cecil?"

He turned his head to the girl, no more than eight, who was staring up at him with emerald eyes. She extended to him a small package of dried meat and a water flask, filled from the recently cooled water they had set up boiling hours ago.

He nodded his thanks and went back to staring into the fire, feeling both Magi's eyes upon him, making him distinctly uncomfortable.

"Is something the matter young man?" asked Tellah, the old man.

"I'm fine," he replied, hoping they would drop the subject and go back to talking about their common interests.

"You haven't said anything all night," said the man, motioning to the food. "And you can hardly eat if you don't take off your helmet, lad."

"I have nothing to say," Cecil informed him with a shrug.

"Not a very talkitive lad, are you?" the old Mage stroked his beard thoughtfully, taking a piece of meat from his own package and nibbling on it.

"I simply want to rescue my friend, and to do that I need the Sand Pearl," he took his sword and moved about the drift wood they'd found, sending sparks shooting into the air. "The only way I can get the Sand Pearl is to go to Damcyan and ask for the Royal Family to escort me to the Antlion's Den. I have nothing else to say."

"Dark Knights aren't exactly common, most especially ones traveling with little Summoner girls, and this sick friend of yours... you've never given an explanation for that either," the old man pointed out and Cecil sighed heavily, feeling annoyed at the man's insistence he open up.

"While you may wear your heart on your sleeve, I prefer to keep my business my business," he crossed his arms over his chest, but then unfolded them, realizing that he must look very much like an indignant child.

"Ah, yes, but I believe that it would be in my benefit to know who you are. Afterall, Dark Knights are known for being duplicitous. One cannot trust their intent," the man pointed out, obviously hoping to goad him into response.

He could say something positively scathing, could accuse him of being senile, and that not even his daughter would miss him if he were to cut the old goat's throat right here, but Cecil was not cruel. The most logical course of action was to respond; as cooly as possible, of course. "Rydia's business is her own, but I am from Baron. Until recently I held a position of rank in its military, but I was shorn of it when I questioned orders to steal a Crystal from Mysidia. My friend is Rosa Farrell., White Mage. She followed me through the desert."

"You are from Baron? I have heard many foul things about that country. They say they use their military to conquer surrounding nations and that they are constantly plotting for more power. Men there are honorless, and-"

"You have, doubtlessly, never been there. Though I had a hand in stealing Mysidia's Crystal things have only gone foul in recent years. Men and women in Baron alike are full of honor and courage. Baron is a land who uses its military to instill national pride and defend our populace, or, rather, we did so until recently. I am not sure what has come over his highness as of late," he wrung his hands together and then returned his gaze to the fire.

"What a strange young man you are," mused the mage. "Tell me, what is your intent so far from home little Dark Knight?"

"I mean to warn the other countries of Baron's intent," he replied, not mentioning Kain or the pit in his stomach that had formed when he thought about what might have happened to him.

"But why? Have you no loyalty to your king? Are you a coward who runs from his duty to his country and his lord?" the man accused again, and this time Cecil actually snorted in disdain.

"So slaying innocents is honorable to you, man? Too long have I stained these hands with blood; it is time I atone. Would you have me give my allegience to an honorless country, as you so eloquently phrased it?" he then wordlessly removed his helmet as he could not longer ignore his hunger pangs.

The man's disaproving stare turned into the typical rude gawk he recieved when ever he chanced to remove his helmet. He felt like snapping at the elder, but ignored it, carefully placing his helm on the ground and unwrapping the package of dried meat. Later he would retie the twine so he could preserve some of the meat and save it for Rydia; she would doubtless grow hungry again on the morrow's journey through these infernal caves.

"Tell me, who are you really? This girl calls you Cecil Harvey, but there is no reputable family by the name of Harvey that dwells in Baron, though I have heard of the Farrells. Why are you posing as one of Baron's Dark Knights and lying to this girl? What is your intent in spinning this web about the Farrel child?"

"I have already told you who I am, Sage Tellah. As for my name... It is a fabrication, courtesy of the man who raised me as his son. I have spent my entire life in the service of the king, an orphan fortunate enough to be given a home and a duty. It is no wonder you've never heard of me. You should learn to take things at face value, it might serve you well in your old age."

"An orphan?" Cecil could hear the silent '_like the girl Rydia_' hanging in the air.

"Yes."

And that was that, though Cecil could feel the Sage staring at him strangely.

Silence ensued for the rest of the night and the Dark Knight was left to his thoughts.

Sunlight streamed through the treetops and the Dark Knight gathered the camping supplies from the night before, working silently and efficently. The girl still slumbered away, curled up on her side in the damp grass. Over her hovered Edward of Damcyan, running his fingers through her hair fondly, the way an older brother might.

Rosa was staring at him from across the fire pit, her bow by her side, her chin on her knees. Her face looked particularly sallow and her eyes tired, causing Cecil to fret over her health. He wished she would have remained in Kaipo where she could have recovered, but she was here and he must do his best to defend her.

He heard Edward say something to Rosa and a conversation blossomed, allowing Cecil to cease his worrying for a moment as he moved about, focusing his mind on the task at hand.

"What do you think, Cecil?"

The voice of Rosa pulled him from his contemplative silence and he turned his head twoard her, a quizical expression on his face, "repeat, please."

"Rosa wants to know if we should move out an hour later. Rydia seems quite exhausted, and we thought that another hour might be beneficial to the health of a girl so young," Edward repeated patiently, his eyes gentle.

"I think we should move onward," Cecil explained cooly, slinging the pack over his shoulder with ease and going to place it in the hovercraft's trunk. "Eight year olds are generally more resiliant than the average adult seems to think, and it is not as if we're walking all the way to Mount Hobs. She will be fine."

"I didn't think about that," Edward stroked his chin thoughtfully as Rosa gently shook the girl awake and explained that it was time to go. 'It's good to have such a pragmatist on the journey. You always seem to see the most logical course of action and take it."

"It was in my training," Cecil responded, feeling more at ease with the Bard Prince than he ever had with that old man, Tellah.

The two were like day and night, he mused. Tellah was as harsh as sunlight and his words oft stung like a slap to the face, but he was brave despite his complete lack of tact. Edward, on the other hand, was as gentle as the rays of the moon, his words soothing as water after a stint in the desert. However, he was maudline, and this made Cecil, who had a tight rein on his emotions, uneasy.

It mattered little to Cecil, as long as the Bard did not begin asking the questions Cecil himself did not want to answer.

Sometimes he loathed the intuitive.

"Training? To become a soldier?" when Cecil didn't respond, the Bard continued. "I was never able to train in any physical manor because of my frail constitution. I've been protected by gaurds my entire life and am scarcely able to defend myself," he was blushing profusely. "I'm afraid some of my people are ashamed to have such a pathetic excuse for a king."

"You needn't worry," Rosa soothed. "Strength of body are not all a good king is comprised of. There are many other traits that make a good ruler."

"And a good Knight," Cecil added. "Honor, courage, wisdom and benevolence are all important characteristics for a noble to posess. I am certain you posess these traits... even if you do not always use them."

"Cecil is right. You're one of the kindest, bravest men I know," Rosa was grasping Rydia's hand, helping to lift her into the backseat of the hovercraft. "I'm sure your people love you."

"We'd best be moving," Cecil stated, turning to his companions as he slipped into the passenger's side of of hovercraft, waiting for Edward.

"You're right," the Bard nodded his blonde head and moved to the driver's side to take the wheel. "We must hurry for the sake of those innocents in Fabul."

Cecil couldn't have agreed more.

Fear spread through every single one of his limbs, nearly petrifying him as he lunged forward, trying to grab her away from the clutches of the dark clad Golbez.

It was not fear for his own life that propelled him forward despite the fact that his body felt as if it were being held togehter by his will alone, but fear for the life of another.

"Rosa!"

He didn't realize he was screaming her name until she was already gone, disapeared into the dark folds of the demon's cloak.

Hatred.

It was such a dark thing, and it was clutching him tightly within its obsidian claws, constricting about his heart. He wanted to kill Golbez, to slam his blade into the darkened heart of that man again and again until he ceased to bleed. Then he wanted to trample the remains and leave them in the middle of the forest to be eaten by monsters.

He was barely aware when Kain l, or when his wounds ceased to seep blood. All he saw was red, all he tasted was the coppery tang of the blood from his tounge, which he hadn't realized he was biting.

"Cecil?"

When he turned around his three remaining companions were staring at him with varied looks of concern on their faces. All of them, however, looked baffled, as if they had expected him to respond calmly to this...! They...!

It cleared his head when he realized they probably had.

Standing, he disapeared from the room, not wanting them to follow him. He wanted to be alone, to try and calm himself down, but it didn't look like that was about to happen because all three trailed after him like lost ducklings.

"Cecil!"

He turned around as Rydia called out his name and saw them all far behind him. It didn't take them long to catch up with him now that he had stopped moving, and he found his waist engulfed by a little girl. He cringed back, not used to the physical contact.

"I'm sorry, Cecil," she muttered into his armor plating. "I'm so sorry."

"..." he placed a hand on top of her head, and she looked up at him, "thank you."

"You really love her, don't you?" Edward mused, his eyes in the past; with his Anna.

The Dark Knight closed his eyes and looked away. What was he supposed to say? Yes? Yes, he loved her! She meant everything to him! She was the one person who treated him with tenderness, and now she was gone because he couldn't save her!

But if he were to be with her everything in his world would come crashing down.

Kain believed he didn't know, as did Rosa, but it was impossible for him not to realize it. Kain was infatuated with her, and if he were to be with Rosa everything that had ever made him happy would burn away into nothing. As justification, he was a dangerous man to be with. He was...

"I do love her, Edward," he found himself replying, "and I will do anything to see her at my side once more."

A hand on both shoulders caused him to jump up, and he looked into the eyes of both Yang and Edward.

"You should know we are both here to assist you in any way we can," Yang informed him. "I know what it is to love."

"As do I," Edward agreed. "I won't allow you to suffer the same pain I have."

For the first time in his twenty years Cecil felt as if he were normal, not an outcast among his followers. Yet he could not bring himself to fully accept their affections; though he thanked them with sincerity.

There was a part of him, no matter how small, that still made him feel as if he were inhuman, and that part seperated him from the others.

That night Cecil dreampt of a soft light glowing ominously on the horizon of his near future.


	7. From My Chains

The Fear Within

From My Chains

A/N: Aft is the back of the ship, starboard is the right side, port is the left, helm is the front side where the boat is navigated from, masts are what the sails are attached to, the deck is the... deck and is also the names from all the levels of the ship, hull is the outside/body of the ship, galley is the boat's kitchen, crow's nest is the large lookout post, hall is the inside of the ship, cabins are where the soldiers (Red Wings) sleep, and... I think that's it, for now. Also, boats are always refered to as 'she' for whatever reason.

...

Cecil Harvey looked down from the starboard side of the ship, staring at the clouds that passed lazily by, even in the darkness of night. He was bathed in moonlight, basking in the gentle light of the twin moons, the roar of the propellers barely reaching his ears. He supposed he was used to it by now, being the commander of The Red Wing fleet, the greatest force in all of Baron. He spent many days aboard these cherry red ships, but his favorite was, by far, The Albatross, the ship on which he now stood. She was a great ship, and he thought her somehow more sturdy than the others, a more reliable vessel in a time of need.

"Cecil? Are you really still up at this hour?" the voice of Rosa drifted over the whir of the blades.

He turned to face her, her hair and clothing tousled by the force of the wind as she clutched her blanket around her shoulders. The King had issued that she be present for this expedition; perhaps, he argued, there would be less men injured if they had a healer amoungst their ranks. Cecil had pleaded with His Highness to send another healer, any other healer, but he was vehement that it should be Rosa, and his word was law. So here the White Mage was, aboard his ship, when he would feel much more at ease with her back in Baron, where she would be secure.

"Someone has to keep watch," he informed her, speaking loudly enough to be heard.

"Can you not assign someone the task and get some rest?" she queired. "You're not invincible."

"... No, you're right," he said very sullenly, "I am not."

She looked at him with shock evident in her warm, hazel eyes, leaning across the gaurd rail. She suddenly turned her head away and stared into the night, laughing softly, "you are such a strange man. I never know what you're thinking. I can say the same comment at different times of day and your response will always be different."

He stared at her, hair unkempt, eyes tired, as if she'd been up all night helping those who had been injured in the day's skirmishes, and found the pit in his stomach grow tenfold. Rosa was the kind person who gave of herself until there was nothing left to give, a truly pure individual wth a gentle heart.

She was also a woman of an exquisite beauty. Rosa was shapely, to say the least. Her face was fair of complexion and shaped as a heart. If he were to wrap his arms around her waist he could place his chin on her head. She had golden hair that seemed to be spun of the sun, and it was long and luscious; he was tempted to run his fingers through it.

He shook his head, dispelling these thoughts, and finally responded, "You are always too kind to me."

She stepped up to him, and he could feel himself blanch as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and began to unfasten his helm. He grabbed her hands and pushed her back ever so gently, "Rosa-"

But she brushed his hands aside, and he allowed her, for he would have to hurt her to push her away from him. Lightly, her touch barely registering, she removed his helmet, and he turned his face away, averting his gaze. As strange as it seemed she had not seen him helmless since before he became a Dark Knight, nealy four years ago, as his twentieth birthday neared. He had made a point of staying away from her, for things were not like they used to be between the two of them. Everything was was changing.

He was slowly being torn apart by his two best friends. Kain had grown cold and bitter twoard him, and he found it simply unbearable to be around Rosa. He cared for her too much to be near her any longer. His job was too dangerous. There were too many unkowns.

It caused him pain to be near her.

The soft touch of her fingers against the skin of his face drew him back to reality, and sent violent shivers through his body. Before he could register what was happening, her lips were pressed to his, her arms slung loosely about his neck.

Against his better judgment he was kissing her back, though a voice in the back of his head, through the fog of his mind, screamed at him to stop. His arms wrapped automatically around her waist and he pulled her to his chest, feeling her run her hands through his hair repeatedly.

All at once he became too painfully aware of her, and pushed her away a bit rougly, breathing ragedly as he pushed himself against the starboard railing. He stared at her with eyes that he felt must be accusing and somewhat wild.

"You look so much different than I remember," she whispered, her voice shaking with uncertainty. "What happened to the boy that I was best friends with in youth? When was he replaced by the man I see before me?" She laughed nervously.

He didn't say anything for a long moment, trying to calm the raging desire that burned suddenly within him, "you should leave me, Rosa."

His voice was strange, too harsh, a deep raspy growl filled with what was obviously desire. He prayed he didn't frighten her.

Too the contray, it seemed, as she approached him to brush her fingers against his face. Before she could move closer he launched himself backward, moving far enough away so that she would understand he didn't want her to come near him.

"What's wrong, Cecil?" She sounded hurt.

"You're right, Rosa," he said, not daring to look at her in fear that he might do something he would regret. "I am not that boy. I am not that Cecil. I have changed. This," he motioned to the ship surrounding him. "All of this... War, the fleet, The Dark Blade... it has changed me. I'm no longer safe for you to be around, Rosa."

"Cecil is Cecil," she said resolutely. "I don't think you understand yourself at all. I just meant... you look so different," she bravely neared him. "You no longer have the features of a child. You're a man now," she reached out her hands and played with the tips of his long, white hair. "It's written all over your face, but it's mostly in your eyes. They're so... strong."

He stared openly at her then, in blatant shock, feeling himself go slack jawed.

She laughed at him, stepping away and staring off into the sea of clouds below, "you really are an amazing man, Cecil. I just wish you could see it yourself."

"I-"

She placed a finger to his lips, shook her head, and then turned to leave, calling to him over her shoulder, "go to bed, Cecil. I'll see you in the morning."

He was left at the railing to stare after her and dream of a world where they could be together.

...

"Rosa-!"

She flung her arms around his waist, and he automatically returned her embrace, forgeting where they were for a fraction of a second. All that mattered was Rosa, her saftey and health, as she pulled herself impossibly close to him.

"You two will have time for all that romantic stuff later," came the voice of Cid, whose hands were on his waist.

Recluctantly, Cecil released Rosa, seeing the remorse in Kain's face out of the corner of his eyes.

And suddenly he understood.

Still...

"Is that really you?" Rosa asked him suddenly, and he tore his gaze away from Kain to stare down at Rosa, who craddled one of his hands in both of hers. "You... you look like... You look like you're supposed to."

He smied at her, taking the back of one of her hands and pressing it to his lips, "I hope so."

He saw Kain glance away in his peripheral vision, and felt his stomach sink, but now whe undetstood. In order to gain something you must sacrifice something else, though it did not feel right to have to loose Kain. Yet he could not apologize. None of this was really his fault for he could not help what he felt, nor what Rosa felt, nor what Kain felt. It was done. The damage was irrevocable. There was no turning back.

All he could do was move forward.

Rosa was staring at him as if he were an alien, and it made him vaugely uncomfortable, but he understood her shock. He was, for the first time, truly himself. He was no longer wrapped in the throes of darkness, but garbbed in light. He was unafraid.

"You don't have to worry about me, Rosa," he told her, reluctantly releasing her hand. "I'm still your Cecil, but we have to go."

She nodded, and he let her go, trying to cover her flank. He was about to follow her, but Kain stopped him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he stared Cecil in the eyes, and Cecil strangely felt taller, though he was several inches shorter than the Dragoon. "I- I never... Take good care of her. If you don't I swear, I'll..."

"I know. I will," he said, uncomfortably, not sure what to say. "Forgive me, for not realizing it sooner. I've only made you both suffer."

Kain looked shocked, "you really have changed, haven't you? What happened to you on Mount Ordeals? Why-?"

"Oi, Cecil! Kain! Hurry your armor plated asses up!" Cid called. "We have to get out of here ASAP!"

"I promise I will tell you later," Cecil said hurriedly, seeing that Rosa was waiting for them at the exit. "It's quite a story."

Kain smirked, almost like their friendship wasn't falling apart, and shook his head, "I'm sure it is."

Cecil smiled and turned to depart, setting himself in his resolve to free himself from his past as completly as he could without leaving those he cared for behind.

...

A/N: As I am currently in the process of playing/buying The After Years this will probably have a sequel from Kain's PoV at some point in the future. Cecil goes through a lot in that game and I want to write about some of it. Plus, I just love me some Kain!


	8. KluYa's Prophecy

Final Fantasy IV 100 Themes

1: Life

He brushed his fingers lovingly through the hair of the woman who slept beside him. She was, in all things, exquisete, and he would never regret coming to her nation.

He loved her.

Once upon a time, very far away from here, he had been convinced he was in love with another, a woman like himself, but... It was true that he did not know what love was until he had descended upon this small blue planet and found her.

Cecilia.

Beautiful Cecilia, with her riveting green eyes, luscious blond hair, and her way of seeing beauty in all things. The mother of his child.

KluYa thought of the small boy in the next room and smiled fondly.

How much love could exist in his heart? How had he come from being one of chilly logic to feeling so wholly? And now...

Now, once more, she was with child, though KlyYa felt that soon this hapiness would dissapate into nothingness. He must enjoy this while he could, embrace this passionately firey woman and their ambitious, strong spirited son.

Cold fear gripped him momentarily as a premonition of the future dug its claws into his mind, enthralling him. It was a vision he'd had many times, the one that had driven him here, to this blue planet.

An unknown man of great moral fiber, an apiration in his mind with hair as fair as moonshine and eyes as brillant emeralds, must cast off the darkness and embrace a mantle of great light. To the stars he would ride on KluYa's carefully wrought airship, the Lunar Whale. There he would fight off an enemy, KluYa's enemy as much as this planet's, and bring prosperity to the world with the hallowed light he held.

_Birthed in womb of Dragon's Maw..._ he thought, remembering were he had placed the ancient ariship centuries before when he had descended upon this earth.

_And borne onto the stars._

_By Light and Darkness cast aloft are Dreamtide oaths resworn._

_Moon is swathed in ever-light ne'er again to know eclipse_

_Earth, with hallow'd bounty reconcilled._

When he'd first arived this was the prophecy he'd penned and given to the Mysidi Tribe, the peoples closest to where he'd hidden his vessel. Rumors carefully spread, and he went and established a shrine upon the place called Mount Ordeals, knowing he would one day have to instill the light into this misguided hero.

But it was only now that he fully understood how he had brought the prophecy to fruition.

Staring at his hands he shook, seeing for the first time both himself and his lover in the face of the distant appiration. KluYa remembered how he had looked when he was a much younger man by several hundered years, remembered his smooth, strong jaw and his powdery skin. Then he thought of Cecilia's beautiful green eyes and how they shone so brilliantly upon the face of that man, filled so with integrity.

But that was not what caused the shivers to creep down KluYa's spine and compelled him to dress and step out into the moonlit night.

No.

There was something in this vision that had never been there before and it made his blood run cold.

Kneeling over the small pond in the very back of the village he inhabited with his family, KluYa placed his hand over the waves and stared at his reflection as it slowly shimmered out of sight. He was older now with his ever-pale hair and his strange, opalescent blue eyes. The thin beginings of a beard adorned his fair countanace, ever bit as shockingly white as his hair. His expression appeared grim, but his face still handsome.

Slowly the face was replaced by that of his brother, who closely resembled their mother even in old age. His long, flowing white beard hid his very oval face, and his foggy eyes stared back at KluYa from their position in the pond, posessing every bit of command that their mother's had in life.

"It has been awhile, Fu," KluYa said softly to his elder brother.

"...You sound disturbed, little brother," the elder said, precisley intuitive, as always. "What is the matter? Do not tell me you have discovered a new branch to that little prophecy of yours?"

"There is something I 've neglected to tell you," KluYa hesitated, wary of what FuSoYa would think of Cecilia and Theodore; interspecies breeding had not been an accepted idea back upon The Moon.

"Oh?" FuSoYa arched his bushy eyebrows in an expression so like their mother's that KluYa almost wanted to laugh.

Almost.

"There is a woman," was what he said, waiting to gauge his brother's reaction. "Do you remeber that place I told you about? The land with the man who deciphered the secrets of Airships?"

"Do not tell me you did something rash like make love to her, KluYa," FuSoYa looked stern. "You cannot possibly gauge the consequences of such a thing."

"... I didn't initially, brother. In fact, she rather hated me at first, but as things have come to pass, we are in love. Cecilia and I have a son, Theodore, he is nearly eight years of age, and she is once more with child," he closed his eyes. "I know you are dissapointed, but our races our more similar than disimilar, as I have discovered."

"That is not what this is about," FuSoYa stated, tyring to change subject; as if he thought KluYa could not see the anger in his eyes.

"In a way, it is," KluYa explained. "As I have already told you, there are two men in my dream. The Harbinger, who goes before Zemus to sow darkness in the world, and The Hero, who smites Zemus with unsurpassable Holy Might."

"Granted to him by yourself. Yes, I already know. What is your point, KluYa?"

"... They are my sons, FuSoYa," KluYa finally said, somehow managing to stop his voice from cracking. Just the mere thoguht of his children being pit against one another in such a way... he could not bear it.

After a very long, very painful, silence, FuSoYa at last spoke, "how do you know?"

"You yourself said so. In my vision I distinctly heard your voice say 'he is a son of KluYa.' The Hero responded with 'then I have hated my own brother enough to kill him. Zemus could have just as easily used me, and our roles might have well been reversed.'"

"...Are you absolutely sure?"

"There is only one thing I have ever been more sure of in my life Fu," KluYa replied softly, his voice now barely above a whisper, "and that is that my destiny awaited me upon the Blue Planet."

"All you can do is pray for the best." FuSoYa assured, speaking nonchalantly.

"You're not a father, Fu," KluYa snapped. "What can you understand of my pain! I love them both so, and to see them fight... to know that one hates another... I am unable to bear it. What's more is that I am sure now that I will die."

"Then your spirit will live on."

"I know, but that is not enough. My son will not know me."

"At least he will live, Klu."

"... Yes. You are right," KluYa said at last. "What more can I, as his father, hope for? Unfortunately, Theodore's fate in all of this is still cloudy..."

"Get some rest, brother. You will need it for what is to come."

KluYa nodded slowly and stood, his brother's reflection disapearing as he returned to the house to live the rest of his mortal life and pray to the gods that his son not be forced to make the same choice he had.


	9. The Ambition of Youth

Final Fantasy IV 100 Themes

2: Youth

Sometimes it was difficult for Captain Johanson to believe that the squire before him was barely a day over fifteen years old. It was in the way he fought with a blade, the way he seemed to become one with the weapon, fighting with graceful finese. He was a prodigy, Captain Johanson marveled, watching as the youthful deckhand preformed drills with Lieutenant Monroe.

"We're not far from the Adamant Isle now, Captain," came the voice of the Second Lieutenant from behind him. "We're less than two knots away."

"Alert Harvey," Johanson ordered. "Have him up here as soon as possible."

Like clockwork, the young man approached him, standing at rigid attention with his left wrist clasped securly behind his back. His bright green eyes stared straight ahead, past Johanson and at the ever steady horizon.

"Today is the day you recieve your Knght's Crest," Johanson said, pacing in front of the squire to attempt to throw him off gaurd; there was no visible change in his expression. "However, there is a trial, which I am sure you've heard of."

He waited to see if Harvey would respond, but the young man had been trained too well, and he did not interupt his superior. Instead, he patiently waited for Johanson to continue speaking.

"You will enter the Adamant Grotto and traverse through the cave alone to retrieve the Knight's Crest and return, however..." he paused. "There's a catch. You will enter the cave tomorrow, on the full moon."

The young man still gazed ahead unflinchingly, though Johanson thought he saw something move behind the squire's eyes; a sure sign that he understood the full moon's implications.

"Sir!" called Lieutenant Monroe, "we're approaching the Isle!"

"All hands to stations! Prepare for landing!" he bellowed, and everyone on the ship scrambled to obey his orders.

Young Harvey immedeatly moved to help the men on the ship. Though his frame was small he handled the ship like he handled the sword, his hands guiding ropes with deft confidence.

Johanson stroked his chin, thinking about the young man who had been sent here to become a Knight, and a member of his Red Wings. This was not a boy, though he had a youthful face, barely changed. He had the will and maturity of a man, and he was a hard worker. Nothing could get in the way of young Harvey as he scaled the ladder of the military. His humble, serious personality and ablility to follow orders as well as give them made him an ideal to most of the commanders.

Johanson placed both his hands on his hips and smiled inwardly that it was he who had been entrusted with the young squire. _The prince, my future king_, he thought, staring at the young one as he worked side by side with the Red Wings, falling into an easy groove.

Of course, that he was the prince was never officially announced, but everyone knew it to be ture; exept the boy, it seemed. He was the perfect prince, and all the commanders loved the young man, even Commander Highwind had, before his passing.

Soon enough the mighty red Albatross touched upon the ground, her propellers slowing to a dead halt as the gangplank hit the grass. The men surged off of the ship and immedeatly went to work again, setting up their nightly camp.

Johanson noticed that Cecil had gone off with the newest Knight upon the ship, young Lord Highwind, who was attempting to revive the fallen Dragoons. Highwind, the son of the late Lord Richard, had undergone the trial only a month before. As Johanson remembered it, the boy had excelled. When he exited the cavern he had nary a scratch upon him, though he looked physically tired, and was clasping the mummified mouses' tail in his hand. He'd had a smirk upon his face and a glint of assured confiedence in his eyes, as if he'd known that he could tackle whatever lay on the road ahead. Johanson had no dobut that he could. Young Harvey was the same as Highwind in that he had the determination and will to suceed in anything he attempted.

Those two were stubbron peas in the same pod, as far as Johanson was concerned. Harvey and Highwind did everything together, and since Sir Richard had passed the two even inhabited the same living space, young Sir Highwind having moved into the palace. Infact, they had graduated from primary school in the same year, though Harvey was a year younger.

Johanson fondly remebered the time the two young cadets had taken on an older, more experienced, group of soldiers and completely dominated them. He could not remeber the exact dispute, but he was fairly positive that it was Private Pangdorr who had provoked Harvey; not suprising as the two had a history of getting into scuffles. Highwind, fed up with Pangdorr and his group of thugs, came to his friend's defense. The two young scamps had been reprimended for starting a fight, but it had been a slap on the wrist compared to the punishment that Pangdorr had recieved for assaulting minors.

Yes, Johanson thought, life was good. He had the two most talented youths in the entire army underneath his tutelage, and one day they would become the two greatest men in Baron's history. He was honored to train them.

"Is it difficult?" Cecil asked as he picked his way around some bushes, though he did not look up at the one he addressed.

"For anyone other than you or I? Likely," Kain Highwind responded, "but you will doubtless find it a triffling thing."

"So I don't need to worry? About the full moon?" Cecil looked up at the sky as he said this, looking unearthly in the glow of moonlight.

"No," Kain paused to look at his friend, hand on his hip, his eyebrows cocked, "but why ask such a foolish question?"

"Rosa was worried about it. I figured that there was no one who would be more of an expert than one who suceeded in passing the trial," Cecil responded, looking back at Kain.

"That girl," Kain sighed, shaking his head. "One of these days she will kill herself with all her worrying."

Cecil chuckled, running one hand through his hair and smiling fondly, "indeed she will. Rosa is quite the fussbudget."

The two did not speak for awhile, both their young minds concentrated on the maiden who awaited their safe return to the castle.

"Just concentrate on the task at hand and you will be fine," Kain said after a little while, coming to stand beside his companion. "Now, let us concentrate on the task at hand."

"Yes, I know," Cecil nodded slowly, stooping low to pick up what would soon become kindling from the grassy earth below.

The two remained silent as they dilgently set to their task, their minds wandering far from the Adamant Isle (a side note - when Cecil is on the Adamant Isle in the DS version he does not know where he is, but because of FFIV:The After he is said to have gone there already. Obviously a lack of forethought by the planners).

Kain thought of Rosa, the beautiful maiden who had been his friend since childhood, and how she had seemed so upset when he had refused to go to his own father's wake. She still was not speaking to him, and that upset hiim. What she failed to understand was that not attending his wake had been a sign of respect for his father. His father was not an emotional man, and going there to have his emotions spill out of him like a font would have soiled the memory of the man who'd driven him so hard. It seemed Kain had not properly appreciated his father in life, but in death Sir Richard Highwind became an ideal of the perfect Dragoon for the ambitious young soldier to aspire to.

Cecil's mind was far away from anything of Baron or even of Rosa, who his mind frequently lighted on. His mind was with, as it seldom was, his birth parents. Cecil oft had more important things to concentrate on than his biological origins, but tonight he could not help but wonder who had created him. It was widly known that children appeared as their parents most of the time, and that they inherited certain traits from them regardless of whether or not their visage could be likened to them. What had they been like? Cecil found hiimself wondering as his body executed the motions of a faithful little soldier. Who had sired him? What was the woman like who had carried him to term?

But other questions also haunted his mind, the inevitable questions that every orphan faced at some point in their lives. Hadn't they wanted him? Didn't they love him enough to keep him?

Cecil, however, vowed that he would not let things like this get in the way of his being a sucsessful soldier. Everything depended on it. In order to repay his debt to the man who had taken him in and the people who had given him a place he was determined to, nay he would, suceed in the path set out for him. Cecil would ascend the ranks of Baron's complex military, would arm himself with a blade forged of darkness, and then he would replaced Captain Johanson as Lord Captain of the Red Wings.

So while one thought of becoming like his father the other thought of becoming the perfect killing machine.

Blind in youth's ambtion, neither yet realized where their paths would take them.

A/n: I will eventually continue with the Adamant Isle Saga outlining Cecil's journey ther, but we will end this here for now. I hope to take a break from the regular Cecil-centric ficlets, how Cecil views himself, and maybe concentrate on how others view Cecil. It will be interesting to work on relationships.


	10. Edward's Contentment

Final Fantasy IV 100 Themes

3:Content

With every breath drawn it became more and more difficult for the young bard prince to move, but he pushed on through the darkness of the Antlion's Den.

Why the fair young man, frail of constitution and seemingly of spirit, had deigned to push himself through the air-starved cavern would be beyond the comprehension of anyone who dwelled outside of the young man's own mind. His reason's known only to himself, the prince simply knew he must not fail, despite being crushed by the weight of his own grief. He carried upon his chest a sorrow greater than any he could have possibly concieved in the dark depths of his consciencness. It was the grief of loosing the one thing that meant the most to you, of having your other half, the one who completed you so thoroughly, torn from you side in an act of selfless sacrifice. The guilt he felt was overwhelming, the countless 'what ifs' consuming his very thoughts.

_What if I hadn't brought her to Damcyan?_

_What if I had listened to her and stayed in Kaipo?_

_What if... What if... What if..._

But in the end he knew there was nothing he could have done. Fate, it seemed, was a cruel mistress.

Edward pushed himself forward and took another deep breath, nearly falling on his tailbone when a group of bats swooped down upon him from above, their eyes glowling scarlet in the dim torchlight. However, Edward suddenly found a sword of darkest ebony placed in between himself and the offending mammal. Eyes adjusting he was grateful to see the Dark Knight standing before him, his sword making a terribly graceful and deadly arc through the air. He could hear the sound of the blade rupturing the flesh of the animal, making a wet noise and then a violent crunch as it met the bone, the sound further punctuated in an echo that sent chills down his spine. But it fell to the ground, followed swiftly by its companions, all making a sick thud as they hit the dirt floor.

The Knight made a contemptuous noise with his throat as his flicked the remnants of the blood off of his sword, elegantly resheathing it. Then, without even an utterance, he continued to push forward. The sound of little feet hitting the dirt caused Edward to stop gaping at the living insturment of death and stare down at the little girl who stummbled after the man. She cast him a look that he couldn't quite read as he dashed past her, and he suddenly started to life, running to catch up to the Knight as he realized that he was carrying the light.

The man both frightend and fascinated Edward. Never in his life had he encountered someone with enough gall to hit him, yet this man had done so without so much as a warning. He held himself with a fierce and terrible dignity, making Edward feel instantly unworthy of the title he now found himself thrust into. Seldom did the man speak, but Edward sensed that his thoughts were a deep well of information, that he had seen unspeakable horrors and commited unspeakable crimes. Yet despite his darkened armor and seemingly terrible past, Edward felt that this man was a man of great character. And he was in love, something Edward could most certainly understood; though any attempts at questioning him about the mystery woman he was trying so desperatly to save from the throes of fever fell on deaf ears.

The first time Edward had seen the man without his dreadful helmet Edward had remembered feeling deep shock, which had evidently shown on his face because the Knight had frowned deeply. This man, this nameless Knight (do you recall Cecil introducing himself?), had the face of one of the perfect gods. HIs hair was like quicksilver (Chem fans know this is a reference to mercury, Hg), his skin as fair as the snow that dusted the tops of the mountains, and his eyes shown like to emeralds against peerless white marble. Most peculiarly, however, were his steel blue lips. Edward had never seen anyone, man or woman, with lips naturally that shade.

"Tell me about this Antlion," drifted the demanding tenor off of the cavern's rock walls.

Eward took a moment to respond, susprised that the Knight was deigning to speak to one he had accused of being a coward. When he spoke at last his mouth seemed to stutter like the stalled engine of a hover craft, "I- uh... I... Well," he tood a steadying breath. "The Antlion is a gentle beast," he explained, "we should have no problem procuring the pearl."

The Knight was silent for a long moment, and Edward began to wonder if he was going to respond, but at long last he replied; though it was not with a comment about the Antlion. "I intimidate you."

"I-"

"That was not a question," replied the man. "I intimidate you. What I want to know is why."

"I-" Edward took another breath and raised the torch higher to light a greater area." You seem so sure of yourself, so brave, and I do not even know your name or what kind of man you are. I am a King, and you make me feel..."

"Uncomfortable?" the man asked, his tone loosing some of its harshness. "You shouldn't feel such a way. You have in your posession something I have never experienced."

"And what is that?" Edward found himself asking, staring at the Dark Knight, who had paused to stare back at the Bard.

"Contentment. I have never been content with myself," replied the man. "And my name is Cecil Harvey."

"You have never been content?" Edward asked, but Cecil said no more.

Edward thought about his life and decided, at large, that Sir Harvey was correct. Besides for the recent events in his life Edward had been very lucky. He'd had loving and supportive parents, comfort and oppulent wealth, and a woman who'd loved him completly. This man, according to his own admission, had not been very lucky, and looking at his grim demenour Edward could only imagine what had forged him into that man. Edward was sure of his own identity, he was pleased with himself even if he sometimes did foolish or cowardly things, but at the end of the day he could at least say he was a good person. Edward wasn't sure if Cecil could say that.

Yes, he was content with himself, and he would make the most of it by doing for these people what they could not do without his aide.

He would retrieve for Cecil's mystery maiden a Sand Pearl.


	11. KluYa's Honesty

This was not a simple matter of 'right' or 'wrong,' decided the man atop the back of his great, sable mount, who pawed the ground nervously, snorting, its breath visible in the chilly autumn air. This was more than just a black and white issue that could be handled by the magisters, this was a complicated moral battle and it would change everything, including the very make-up of his kingdom.

The man his queen had fallen in love with was not commiting any crime, Thomas the XVI admitted to himself. He was not criminal, infact he denied the woman's affections and continued to impartially observe the kingdom as if there was nothing there at all. Yet Thomas could see it in his eyes, that deep longing for companionship, the way his pupils followed the curves of her body and appreciated the beauty of her face. The man, uncommonly cold though he was, seemed to treat the Lady Queen with a tenderness beyond words, and speak to her in a manor most gentle.

The one at fault was his Lady Queen, who had treasonus thoghts against him just by being smitten with the man. In this kingdom, afterall, the King took no concubines and the Queen no consorts. She was guilty of betraying him, and their sacred vows of marriage, sworn under the power of the twin gods, Gaelach and Breithe, with her lust after this stranger amongst strangers.

Yet the one at most fault was himself. Had she not told him on the day of their marriage that she would never love him, that their marriage was one of nessecity? He had failed her, had failed to be the man he should have been for her, failed to be everything that she needed. Their marriage was not even consumated, so could he not release her from their bond? That would prevent the inevitable crime from occuring, and she could peacefully go away with this man, who was even now preparing for departure; who, once gone, they would surely never see again.

"You seem distracted," the tenor drifted over the early morning mists, and Thomas was jolted into reality, staring at the phanotom atop the dappled grey mare who had appeared silently beside him.

It was the man, the phantom man, who the Queen was smitten with. He was short, but had the lean and long limbed build of someone far taller than himself, though he was well-porportioned. His hair was in a long, plaitted braid down his back and was the color of the pale moon, combed from his face and smoothed down with what looked like no small effort. He had thin, blue lips pursed into a concentrated line, and a long, straight nose set in a face that was neither handsome nor homely, but held a strange attractiveness none the less. His eyes, unusual orbs, did not posess the black pupils of most, but smokey blue pupils barely a different shade than his ireses. It made him look like a blind man, but as his eyes were focused with intensity on Thomas' face he knew this could not be so; still, it was disconcerting.

"Ah… KluYa," Thomas cleared his throat nervously; the man always made him uncomfortable – there was something downright unearthly about him. "What are you doing here?"

"Going for a ride," he said softly, looking away and up at the sky, where the twin moons still hung. "I thought I would try to harvest some herbs for potions. Your Healers still need some pratice, after all. Does your guard know you are out here all alone, Your Majesty?"

"Er-"

"I will take that as a no," KluYa, the winter man, smirked, urging his mare forward toward the small copse of trees ahead.

Unsure why, Thomas followed him, surprised when the man dismounted and stepped into the trees, his platinum silver armor suddenly covered in shadow. He, too, dismounted, tying his horse to a low hanging, but fairly sturdy, tree branch and treking after him.

"Do you know what the application of Mandragora is?" asked KluYa, stabbing the tip of his long sword into the top of a very leafy fern, which gave a shuddering whimper and slouched over, clearly dead.

Thomas didn't answer.

"It heals all Human wounds, but harvesting it is deadly task, and in its fully concentrated form it can be a deadly poison. First it must be processed," he effortlessly pulled the plant from the ground. "In order to do this you need light of the purest quality and water from a mountain spring. One must be vested with the Holy Light and be able to travel to the hightest reaches of this world, in other words, a Paladin."

The King wondered where this was all leading, and found himself staring as the man's hands emitted a soft silver-white glow, much like moon light.

"But a Paladin cannot exist should any evil desires enter his heart," the light sputtered and faltered, and KluYa finally met his eyes, great shame held within them. "That is why I must ask you to release your wife from your marriage and let her wed me instead… I'm afraid I care about her too much to just simply… leave. In any case, I would never forget about her, and dwelling on her would only lead to further taint."

He stood, a great and powerful sadness in his eyes as he looked through the treetops and at the moon. "Besides, this was Forseen. From The Beginning this was meant to transpire. It is as I have Seen."

Thomas could say nothing, but he nodded mutely in agreement to anull his marriage with dearest Cecilia. Though he may be smitten with her beyond words, she was clearly in love with KluYa, and obvioulsy the feeling was returned. Who was he to deny her true hapiness?

"As it was written, so it shall be done," KluYa seemed to quote, his voice airy and distant. "Brother warned me that I would be the cause of my own visions, but it is far too late to turn back now. I must do this or when Evil does awaken there will be no one here to stand against it. 'Without the Pillar the Four will fall and their bones be scattered.'"

He turned to go, "I will let you tell Cecilia the news, Thomas. It is not my place."

Dfirting like an appiration, KluYa left the King of Baron alone in the woods with a dead Mandragora, having agreed to release his one true love from their sacred bond.


	12. Changed Man

Final Fantasy IV 100 Themes

4: Change

One million galaxies swirled above and below, close enough to touch but beyond reach, captured in glass, frozen in time. A mirror, the length of the room, ran along the northernmost wall, crystalline panels nearly seamless, barely distinguishable from one another through the inky darkness. It was an altar, rising up to the heavens, extending to the moon, a sort of lunar bridge to another world beyond this mortal one. Frozen in eternal silence, the room likened the depths of space, ethereal, lonely, and immortal.

Light that would have been blinding had it not been so gentle flooded the space all at once as four silhouettes shone against the golden backdrop of moonbeams. As the light died away it became clear that these folk were not the normal sort; they had clearly braved unspeakable dangers to reach this Sanctuary. For what had they faced death? Why had they scaled mountain and fought fiend to reach this secluded place, so far from prying eyes?

The answer was different for each of them, as different as they were from one another, in fact. The two children, no more than ten, had come to serve as scouts, not for the region but for a man and his and his intentions, but also they had come for themselves. To ascend this mountain, terrible enough to be called Ordeals was a task that had surely sharpened their skills beyond their previous capabilities. Indeed, in a few days they had learned more than in all of their years. The elder, eyebrows as white as the snow that dusted the peak of this very mountain, had come to seek a tool for revenge. The letting of his dearest daughter's blood had led him to desperately search for imaginary spells on terrible mountains and hope to prevail.

Had they climbed this mountain alone this sacred altar would not have permitted them entrance, their reasons were far too selfish, but they had been granted permission by the Great Light because of the final form; who now stood uncertainly in their midst.

Indeed, the young man at first appeared a demon, clad in armor of blackest night, his face hidden behind a grizzly, horned, helmet. Yet as he lifted his visor and lowered the grate that hid his mouth from view he was revealed to be a man of heroic countenance. The darkness he was clad in did not seem to fit one who had the sort of face painted on the stained glass windows of cathedrals, and the Great Light knew this, for he could look into the heart of the man.

He had ascended this cursed peak to reach this hallowed chamber in order to be granted a power great enough to stave off the darkness. His greatest desire, one he thought selfish, was to save the woman he loved from the sinister clutches of his sworn enemy and stop the kingdom he adored from conquering an undeserving world (also under the control of this monstrous man – this Golbez).

_My son… How long have I waited for you to come to me…How long…_

A sonorous voice called to the man, and an invisible hand reached up to gently pull him forward into the bright light that now swelled in front of the mirrors. The man, feeling wary but knowing this was the only way to save the woman he cared for, allowed the Great Light to herd him. As he neared the light solidified, drawn into a single beam and then into a staff, at last manifesting itself as a gleaming blade.

_Your soul… the pain you are in…_the Great Light muttered as it guided the man's hand to the blade, seeming to clear its head after a moment and beginning again. _The tragedy that unfolds now causes my heart to ache so, but there is nothing to be done, except… Except to infuse within you a last piece of my soul._

"Wha-what?"

Light, like a blanket, engulfed the man. A feeling unlike any other welled up within him for a brief moment, a feeling that almost made him cry it was so terribly lonely and derelict, but then it was expelled from him. He found himself staring at a man who looked very much like him, he only knew it was not because the eyes were not green and the hair was much too long. He was wearing armored that seemed fashioned from starlight, the same sword he himself now held gripped in his right hand.

_Take sword in hand, my son, and bid farewell to the blood and pain that so stains your past…_

The light faded and gasps uttered by his companions caused him to stare at himself, recoiling at the sight. He was garbed in the same starlight armor as that unusual man, swathed in a cape as light as gossamer, as soft as the breath of the wind. His hair, usually tied in a messy bun atop his head so it stayed well out of his way, now flowed freely about his face, falling well past his shoulder blades.

His eyes lighted on his own reflection, curious, but he found the Dark Knight still facing him. At once, given a mind of its own, it stepped _through_ the glass as if stepping through a waterfall, materializing in front of him. Raising its head to stare at him, it crouched into a pose of attack.

Instinctually, he side stepped what would have been a killing blow, parrying the attack and causing the Dark Knight, himself, to stumble backward. Somehow, he knew fighting back would not avail him, and so he continued to dodge and parry, though he did not remain unscathed for long. The Dark Knight fought with a skill that most opponents did not possess, and he realized with a start that it was because he was truly that skilled himself.

A light shone brightly once more as the Dark Knight stumbled backwards, shattering into one million shards of radiance, flying every which way, much like a shattering mirror.

_Yes. There are battles more worthy than Vengeance or even Justice. A Paladin's greatest allies are his Compassion and his Mercy. Remember this, my son. _

Embraced by light, he closed his eyes as half-remembered warmth filled him, the parting words of the Great Light whispered in his ears, soft as a childhood memory.

_May this Light be your strength, though it is the last of mine._

Left alone, the man stared at his blade, feeling suddenly more prepared for what was ahead of him, but still longing for answers.


End file.
